


Lay Your Weary Body Down

by FanWriter



Category: Alias (TV)
Genre: Based off the book series, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 12:45:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19812583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanWriter/pseuds/FanWriter
Summary: A missing scenelet between Wilson and his wife after he gives Sydney his business card.





	Lay Your Weary Body Down

**Author's Note:**

> I had no idea this was going to be this long, I typed it in one go and it just sorta kept coming. The only update I made was Emily's baby, Jacquelyn - i admit to have forgetting about that one.
> 
> For the life of me I couldn't think of a title for this. 'Lay Your Weary Body Down', is a song by the Gigolo Aunts and it was played on Alias 1.18; it was the first of two songs by the Gigolo Aunts that Alias used, the second being in the very next episode called 'My Favorite Regret'.

Sarah sat up in bed reading, waiting on her husband to get home. He'd had to work late - again - and had called earlier to say to go ahead and eat without him, he'd get something there. She looked up at the faint sound of the front door opening and closing. Hearing the familiar footsteps of her husband across the floor, she staying in bed, waiting on him. It wasn't a long wait until she saw his exhausted form pass through the door. ''Hey.''

''Hey,'' he said wearily, taking off his suit jacket and loosening his tie. He came to her side and kissed her before sitting down heavily on the bed next to her legs.

''Bad day?'' she asked, a hand on his thigh.

''Depends on your perspective.''

When he remained silent, she moved her hand to his cheek. ''Reginald?''

He swallowed thickly. ''I saw Sydney today.''

''Sydney?'' she asked, then it dawned on her. ''Jack's daughter? Oh, Reginald, how was -'' her smile faded. ''What's wrong?''

His expression closed off and his next words were toneless as they left his mouth. ''I gave her my business card. Asked her to come work with me.''

Sarah's faced drained of color. ''Oh, Reginald ...'' she trailed off.

She knew, ever since Reginald put the engagement ring on her finger years ago, that he worked with the CIA, and she'd subsequently been sworn to secrecy by him. They weren't able to keep it from her uncle, though, who'd been pretty highly ranked in the military; who'd been able to see through her soon-to-be-husband's half-truths of his work, who'd been able to run a background check, who'd had the clearance level to read the unredacted version. She could still remember the day when he showed up on their doorstep asking for Reginald. Her uncle didn't say anything; just sat down on the couch and wordlessly handed her husband a cigar. She realized it was his way of acceptance; he hadn't much cared for Reginald up until that point; never believed he was good enough or could care for her enough with all the time he spent at work.

It was about a decade later when she'd come home from her night shift at the hospital to see him getting ready for work. She'd kissed him goodbye, told him to have a good day at work and started towards the bathroom to change. He'd stopped her with a hand to her elbow and stared at her intently, unblinkingly. ''I quit working for the company. Today, I'm starting at a position at a bank. It's called Credit Dauphine. That's where I work from now on. Understand?'' After that, he'd grabbed his briefcase and walked out the door. She'd forgot about her shower and just how comfortable the bed had looked when she'd entered and drove straight to her uncle's house. He'd made a call, came back into the living room, and told her whatever she did to keep her mouth shut; not a word to anybody. Her husband worked in a bank and that was all anyone was able to know. He'd then spent the next few hours talking about three men he'd been in the service with; going on and on about them until stories he'd told her when she was a child clicked into place - they'd been in the military one minute, the next had the rumor mill saying that they'd been called to work in black-ops and never heard from again. Her uncle had turned down a position there himself, always said how dangerous it was, especially in those times, and that with four young kids at home and a sick wife he couldn't take the risk. When her uncle had seen the dawning light of understanding in her eyes, he'd guided her to the door, another cigar pressed into her hand. She'd had dinner waiting for Reginald when he got home. ''How was work at the bank?'' she'd hesitantly dared to ask. He'd stiffly responded with ''Fine'' and they went about their meal.

Over the years, he'd drop her tidbits of information. One, being that his old friend from Langley, Jack, had been 'transferred' with him. She'd remembered Jack; she'd babysat his daughter, Sydney, every now and again if she was free and Laura had something to do. It was devastating for everyone when Laura died, and Jack had told them that he wanted a new life for Sydney and he didn't want her visiting the Wilson's anymore. Or the Sloane's. Emily had taken it pretty hard as well but they tried to understand, and privately hoped that their husbands could reach Jack as he slid more and more into reclusive behavior.

On day, Arvin had come to the house, asking for Reginald to talk about Jack. She told him that he wasn't home yet but that he could wait for him. Arvin had smiled at her then and she remembered feeling unsettled by it for whatever reason. The stereo in the corner of the kitchen had been on and a favorite song of hers had come on; she'd started swaying to the tune as she chopped vegetables, and was quite startled when Arvin had come up behind her and swept her into an elaborate waltz. She'd flushed in embarrassment then, remembering the romantic dinner her husband had prepared for her the night before, where they'd danced to the music barefoot on the rug, and then later to the beat of their hearts. She'd waved Arvin off at the time, stating that Reginald would be home any minute and she didn't want him to get the wrong idea. He'd apologized and spent the rest of the wait in the living room. When Reginald did get home, ten minutes later, he'd stopped short at the sight of Arvin on the couch and she could see the tense conversation they were having from the kitchen, even if she couldn't hear it. When Arvin had left, she'd asked, ''What was that all about?'' Reginald had taken a photo of himself, Jack and Arvin off the mantle from the 'old days'. He'd taken the photo out of the frame, laid the picture down in front of her, and took a steak knife she'd set out to be taken to the table and promptly cut an X into Arvin's face, then said that they should eat dinner while it was still hot, that when thing got cold they went bad. Another visit to her uncle and she'd gleamed the meaning of her husband's words: Arvin had 'went bad', he'd turned. She'd been wary of him ever since.

A year later, on her uncle's death bed, did he tell her the truth. That the bank her husband worked for wasn't CIA sanctioned, and that he was a mole of sorts inside the bank. Pieces had started to fall into place bit by bit after that; of the world her husband had placed himself in and her worry increased tenfold, especially now that she was finally pregnant. It had taken a lot of trying to bring Claire, named after her uncle Clarence, into the world. Reginald had held her in his arms and said ''Jack''. She'd been confused at first until he looked up at her and said that he wanted Jack to be godfather; just as he was to Jack's daughter, Sydney. She hadn't heard from either of Reginald's old friends in what seemed like forever, but the look on his face was steadfast, and she understood: that her husband was saying there was no one else who'd be able to protect their daughter better, and she'd hastily agreed.

Claire was eleven now, long since asleep, and as she sat on the bed with her husband, absorbing what he'd just said along with all the little tidbits she'd put together over the years her hand came up to cover her mouth. ''As in -''

''The bank,'' he gritted out, ''yes.''

''Reg - does Jack know?''

''Arvin said that he was 'in the loop'. Whatever that means.'' He bent over, his head in his hands. ''She has no idea. No idea how ... bad this particular bank is, and I can't tell her. I didn't want to hire her - the last thing I'd ever want ...but I couldn't say no. If I refused, Arvin would've just sent someone else to do it. At least this way ... this way, at the very least, I can keep some of my promise to Jack; to protect her and guide her should she ever need it. To be there for her. She hasn't accepted the job yet,'' he said, looking back up at his wife from his hunched position. ''I hope and pray she doesn't,'' he huffed humorlessly, ''but at the same time ... to be able to spend time with her again ... I can still remember her running up to me, jumping up and down for just one more story.''

Sarah pulled her lips from her teeth where she'd been biting them, smiling sadly at the wistful look in her husband's far-away eyes. ''She was always you're little buddy, wasn't she? Always sneaking her candy and little trinkets from your travels.'' It'd hurt her and Emily, not being allowed to see Sydney; with the both women having trouble conceiving (and baby Jacquelyn dying in childbirth) they'd all come to see the little girl as their own, but between the four of them - Emily, Arvin, Reginald and herself - her husband had taken the hit the hardest, constantly fumbling around with a teddy bear he hadn't had the chance to give to her at her mother's funeral. Six weeks later, he'd stuffed the bear in a box in the attic and it'd stayed there until the birth of their own daughter. She wiped at her eyes. ''How was she - how'd she seem? Did she look well?''

''She looks like Laura.''

Oh, she knew all about Laura; had never really gotten along with her, at least not in the way she had with Emily, but their husbands were a close-knit group so they saw each other often enough and became friends. She always felt that Laura - or whatever her real name was - was haunting in a way, a ghost; seeing as how Laura was never real, she was inclined to think that her first-blush feeling was right.

''She's really, really smart,'' Reginald continued. ''Top of her class. Knows a lot of languages. More than most of the people I work with. Has awful taste in music -''

Sarah choked on a laugh, remembering how many times she'd looked over to see her husband's scrunched up features as their daughter belted out the lyrics to whatever tune was popular at the time. ''So she's ok?''

''Yeah. Yeah, she seems ok.''

Sarah sat up a little straighter. ''Maybe she could come for a visit. I mean, if you're working together, it wouldn't be so uncommon to say, 'Hey, my wife's having a neighborhood BBQ; why don't you come' -''

''She'd have to actually take the job, though, for that to happen.''

She deflated back into the headboard, seeing the source of her husband's confliction. ''Do you think she will?''

''I don't know,'' he sighed, leaning over into her, his cheek on her breast, and he closed his eyes at the familiar, soothing touch of her hand in his hair. ''I really just don't know.''

Sarah wrapped her other hand around the broad expanse of her husband's torso and held him tight to her. She decided let the conversation drop, seeing how tired he was. ''You need to rest,'' she said, her voice just above a whisper.

''I don't want to move,'' he said, even though he knew he should; his suit would be wrinkled if he didn't and -

''I didn't say you had to,'' Sarah said. Reading his mind, she smiled into his ear. ''I'll iron it later.''

Wearily, he pushed himself the rest of the way onto the bed, stretching out beside her and holding fast onto her as he closed his eyes and fell into the numbness of sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Also, Wilson was never 'found out' as a mole, he and Sydney talked, which I've written about previously.


End file.
